


Imperfect 3.2

by blackrabbit42



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, Prostitution, Unconscious Sex, sexbot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 12:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrabbit42/pseuds/blackrabbit42
Summary: The programmers who wrote this kid’s code were really a couple of sick fucks, because no one could possibly ever be expected to live with a machine like this and ever leave the house again.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 22
Kudos: 144
Collections: Fanworks for Milana's Charity Auction





	Imperfect 3.2

**Author's Note:**

> Written for errantnarwhal for the fanauction to benefit theatregirl7299. Thank you for being so patient, darling, I hope you like it!

_Work order number 426428_

_Technician: Jensen Ackles_

_Model: Jared Unit, v684, custom design_

_Reason for Complaint: Three dislocated fingers on left hand. Unit was stored in closet in good condition x4 days, defect discovered when removed from closet. Unit states visual record of incident is unhelpful for diagnosis as closet was dark._

The thing about these “Taboo Line” sexbots is that they are _technically_ supposed to look like they are of legal age. _Supposed_ to. Who’s to judge what that means? The average unit is sold and delivered mere days after it leaves the Teleios labs, and if the porn industry has taught Jensen anything (and it’s taught him _a lot_ ), it’s that there are eighteen year olds that can be made to look a lot younger, and sixteen year olds that can be made to look at least somewhat older. 

So yeah, this Jared unit? By the letter of the law, he’s totally legal. But whoever designed him did so with a spirit of “ _sure_ he’s legal, _wink, wink._ ” He makes Jensen feel so, so dirty whenever he works on him. The slutty, knowing smirk he gives Jensen, the way he peers up, wide eyed, through his floppy bangs, the way his skin is so baby smooth. Pair all that with the knowledge that there is _nothing_ under-aged about the size of the cock Jared’s packing? Jensen has to take frequent mental health breaks while he’s working. And by mental health breaks, he means closing the door to the lab and jerking off. 

Jensen’s not sure what algorithm sends the work orders his way when Jared needs work. Which, come to think of it, is a lot. Jensen taps at his laptop curiously. This is the _fifth_ time that he’s worked on Jared. Sure, they’d all been minor adjustments, loss of balance, poor audio reception, headaches, things like that, but these things should _not_ be happening to a properly cared for sexbot. Jensen would _never_ have let that sort of thing happen to Jared if he’d been his. 

The thought of _owning_ Jared, even just that brief whisper of the idea through Jensen’s mind makes him take off his glasses and hide his face in the crook of his elbow. Deep breaths. Focus. 

This time, it’s a little more serious. The work order lists “dislocated fingers” in the _reason for complaint_ box. 

Jensen puts his glasses back on and rolls up his sleeves. After a moment’s thought, he gets up and closes the lab door. He’s left his work on Jared for last, and all the other technicians have already left the complex, but no sense taking risks. 

Now to the work at hand. Jensen quietly snorts at his own pun, then slaps his hand over his mouth, shooting an embarrassed look over at Jared laid out on the lab bench. Thankfully, he hasn’t switched Jared on yet, so his unrelenting nerdiness is still his little secret. Of course, who is he kidding? He’s spending his Friday night working alone in his lab, he might as well walk around with a KING OF THE NERDS crown placed jauntily on his head. 

He gently lifts Jared’s hand off the table. To say the fingers are dislocated is an understatement. Two fingers hang loosely down, curving towards Jared’s palm, and when Jensen turns the hand over, they fall grotesquely backward. An easy fix, but he’s puzzled as to how it happened in the first place. This sort of injury is most common in high school and college athletes, and Jared’s owner stated in the work order that he had found Jared in his closet this way, having been put away the week before completely intact. 

That alone disturbs Jensen. Once a Teleios unit is sold, they’re like any other piece of property. The owners can do with them as they wish. But _Jesus_ , who buys a 4 million-dollar piece of art and stores it in the closet? He runs his thumb thoughtfully over Jared’s palm, cradling the damaged fingers in his own, thinking. Jared is dressed in a pair of artfully distressed button-fly blue jeans and a grey tee-shirt with skateboarding skeletons across the front. No socks or shoes, only the bottom two buttons of his fly buttoned. Jensen very studiously does _not_ look to see if Jared’s wearing anything underneath. And then he does look. Of course there’s nothing underneath. Deep breaths. 

Jared can feel pain, Jensen knows. He’s been programmed with the ability to experience a full range of tactile sensations, kind of necessary for the job he has been made for. So Jensen does the repair while Jared is still switched off. The fingers snap obediently back into place with little difficulty. A repair that honestly, Jared could have performed on himself. 

Before he switches Jared back on, Jensen stands by the lab bench for a moment, just looking at him. Continues to stroke the back of Jared’s hand absent-mindedly. How unfair it is for someone to own Jared who doesn’t appreciate him like Jensen does. Someone who passes him around to his friends at parties without a flicker of jealousy. Someone who rides him hard and puts him away wet. 

Jensen teases the hem of Jared’s tee shirt up, just an inch or so. Strokes the skin just at the waist of his jeans. It’s cool to the touch, but so soft. So realistic. There is just the faintest trace of baby-fine hairs there, and Jensen knows that if he were to run his tongue along that spot, it would taste of sweat, and smell just the slightest bit like boy-sex. 

Glancing back over his shoulder, he confirms that the door to his lab is still shut and locked. Then Jensen lets his hand go deeper, down into the “V” formed by Jared’s open button fly. There’s no need to feel furtive about this, he tells himself. Part of the routine check is to make sure that _all_ of the unit’s functions are fully operational. It’s just that one usually doesn’t perform these checks one-handed, with the other hand pressed firmly against the growing bulge in your own chinos. 

It’s just that Jared is _perfect._ And by that, Jensen means that he is perfectly designed to be slightly imperfect, so real. The way his nose is just a tiny bit too sharp. That birthmark that isn’t quite in the exact right aesthetically pleasing place. And what color even were his eyes? The specifications say that they are blue, but the last time Jensen saw them, he would have been hard pressed to name that color. 

Right now, they are closed, the completely non-descript lashes resting on his cheeks, but Jensen imagines them watching him, now. Imagines how at first, they’d open wide in mock-innocence, and then glint with a look that says, oh yes, I know your type. You rule-followers are all the same, full up to the brim with secret shame…

Jensen unbuttons his own fly, one handed, nudging down the zipper with his knuckles while his fingers scramble to pull his dick out of his y-fronts. The shock of the cool air in the lab makes him gasp and cover it protectively with his palm. 

He glances one more time towards the door, guilty-eyed and two hands full of cock. Aw, screw it. “You’d keep it warm for me, wouldn’t you Jared?” he whispers, rough through his tight jaw. His hand slides down deeper, fingering his own balls and shivering at the thought of Jared answering him. The sound of his own name in Jared’s candy-sweet mouth. 

If he switched Jared on right now, the heat would return to his skin rapidly, his muscles would tense with life. Jensen strokes himself, imagining that quickening, imagining what it would be like to be with the _live_ Jared, to feel him respond to the way Jensen is touching him. He’s seen enough sexbot porn vids to know there is no detectable difference between a bot and the real thing. And Jared is so _young…_ completely off the table, so to speak in real life. 

But this isn’t real life. The only reason Jensen even gets to be in the same room as Jared is because he’s a tech. No one other than his owner has the codes to turn him on and off. And theoretically, Jensen can touch him, question him, make sure he’s operating correctly, but he can’t do this with him. Can’t have it be just the two of them, breathing close, testing each other’s triggers. He wouldn’t be allowed to take his time, to stoke the silky hairs at the base of Jared’s cock and ask him how he likes that. 

“You like that, baby?” he whispers, gripping himself harder. He rubs his thumb over the head of Jared’s cock. “You like the way I touch you better, don’t you?” Jared doesn’t answer, his lifeless form unresponsive to Jensen’s touch, of course. 

But there is always a moment, and Jensen always tries to time it correctly, let himself edge up to it and back off, until he has nothing even remotely resembling a will of his own left, when he imagines switching Jared on and…

Jensen groans and lunges for the box of folded paper towels on the counter beside him. Too late. He comes all over his own fist, falling weak-kneed back onto his work chair. It rolls back a few feet and comes to a stop as Jensen stills, letting his too loud heartbeat quiet down to normal. 

Deep breath. Jensen has to pull it together before he switches on Jared. The units keep a visual record in their archives as a security feature. Theft is uncommon, but the security features tended to be a strong deterrent from unauthorized use by people like housekeeping staff and under-aged residents of the household. Jensen has no intention of being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Once he regains his composure and tidies up his clothing, Jensen takes one last look at the specs sheet on his laptop. As if he didn’t have them memorized. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he gently massages open the hidden panel in Jared’s neck and punches in the access code to activate him. 

Jensen can’t help it. He keeps his hand on Jared’s skin as he powers up. Just three fingers, resting on the inner crook of Jared’s elbow, but he loves to feel the heat flush through Jared as he comes to life. 

Jared notices, first thing. His eyes flick between Jensen’s hand and his face, a knowing smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. He sits up, shaking the stiffness out of his joints and twisting his torso side to side. The vertebrae in his back pop and Jensen marvels at the engineering. How life-like. With many of the units Jensen works on, he thinks of them as machines, and their animated state seems unnatural to Jensen. But not with Jared. He thinks of this as Jared’s real self, his natural state of being. 

“You got anything for me?” Jared asks, looking at Jensen with wide, expectant eyes. 

For a moment, Jensen’s mind goes blank. His face flushes with guilty heat. Then he remembers and smiles. He keeps a supply of cherry tootsie pops in his desk for Jared, twenty dollars for a three-pound bag on amazon. That way he can get all reds. For Jared. 

Jared grins when Jensen hands him one, a heart stopping flash of imperfect white teeth, that one canine just slightly crowding the front. “Thanks, man,” Jared says. “I never get stuff like this at home.” He smiles around the lollipop, watching as Jensen has to swallow hard. 

“Okay, then,” Jensen says. “Dislocated fingers. How’d that happen?” 

Jared shrugs. 

“Your archive doesn’t have anything recorded? The report says you don’t have a visual, but what about audio? Proprioception?”

“I don’t know. One minute I’m fine, the next thing I know… It’s like a mystery or something.”

Or something. Suddenly, Jensen is reminded of the time his niece knocked a vase off an end table. _I was just minding my own business and all of a sudden it just fell. Maybe it was a ghost._

The repair log is only a few keystrokes away. Headache. Loss of balance. Poor audio reception. All self-reported. All difficult to objectively diagnose. All resolved on their own. Jensen looks at Jared, turns the problem over in a new light. There are not many things that could tear his mind away from the way Jared curls his tongue around the lollipop before his lips close around it, but an engineering problem comes close. An engineering problem involving Jared? _That’s_ in his wheelhouse. 

Jared returns the gaze, straight-faced. Too straight. 

“So, why do you think these things are happening to you?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m defective.” Jared turns his cheek into Jensen’s touch as Jensen shines a penlight into his eye. Blue-ish. Maybe. 

“That would be a shame. You know what happens to defective sexbots, don’t you?” 

“They get sold second hand, deep discount, right?” 

“Exactly. At auction to the highest bidder, and for defects, the bids don’t get too high, not after what happened in Houston. Auction is _not_ where you belong.” Jensen pushes Jared’s hair away from his ear, peers inside with an otoscope. Everything in perfect working order. “You are _not_ defective.” 

“I don’t know,” Jared says, a little more softly, maybe the first genuine thing Jensen has heard him say. “Aren’t I supposed to be programmed for like, obedience and loyalty, and all that shit?” His voice gets even quieter. “I don’t feel those things. _At all_.” 

Jensen steps back. “That _is_ unusual,” he says. “Although if you were programmed to have a teenage personality, then I suppose a bit of rebellion is par for the course. “Have you always felt this way?” 

“Nah, at first I bought the whole gig, hook, line and sinker. I didn’t know anything else. But remember that time I had ringing in my ears?

Jensen does remember. It was the first time he’d worked on Jared. Come to think of it, one of the only times he remembers actually fixing the problem. A minor feedback loop in the audio programming. 

“Yeah, about that time I started thinking about why.”

There’s a USB port in the panel next to the keypad for Jared’s access code. Jensen gestures for Jared to turn his head aside so he can insert a drive. 

“Do we have to?” Jared asks. He catches Jensen’s wrist and watches the expression on Jensen’s face in response to the touch. 

“I need to look at your log history.” Jensen says gently, but he sees where this is going. Jared is running his thumb over Jensen’s wrist, much as Jensen had been doing to him earlier. “Fingers don’t just dislocate by themselves. Anyway, why what?”

Jared just looks confused. 

“A second ago, you said you started wondering why.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, like, why do I have to be loyal to the douchebag that bought me? He’s a total tool. And maybe there’s someone else I wish could own me.” 

This stops Jensen in his tracks. 

“Jared. Did you dislocate your own fingers?” 

In response, Jared pulls Jensen’s wrist to his mouth, kissing there. His mouth so plush, so sweet, Jensen can smell the cherry candy taste of it. His whole body flushes and shivers. 

“Jared—”

Jared uses his other hand to pull Jensen into the space between his legs. Traps him between his knees. He lets his hands fall to Jensen’s waist, thumbs on hip bones, and pulls himself even closer to the edge of the lab bench. 

“Someone might have made me this way,” he says, low and dirty in Jensen’s ear. “But they must have left something out. Must have screwed up somehow. Because there is something seriously defective about me.” Jared nuzzles Jensen’s neck. “And you? I don’t think you’ve exactly been playing by the rules either.” 

Jensen pushes back. Glances nervously at the door. “Wh— what do you mean?” 

“You think I can’t smell you?” Jared asks, his lips sly and words dangerous. “You think I can’t feel your heart rate, can’t see how your eyes are dilated? I was _created_ to pick up on cues like that. You didn’t wait five minutes after you came before you switched me on. It’s thick in here.” 

“I don’t know what you m—”

As pretty as cherry candy was in Jared’s mouth, it tastes even better. Jared slides his tongue into Jensen’s mouth like it belongs there. Lets him taste. Hand at the back of his neck so that even if he wanted to, Jensen can’t pull away. And he one-hundred-percent doesn’t want to. Maybe if he hadn’t fantasized about this a million times. Maybe if he hadn’t already crossed the line more often than he can count. Maybe if Jared weren’t so, so skilled at exactly what he is doing. 

When Jensen doesn’t pull away, he can feel Jared’s lips smile around the kiss, Jared knows he’s won. He hikes one ankle up behind Jensen’s thighs and crushes them even closer. 

That’s when the damn breaks loose. Everything Jensen has been holding back, everything he thought he couldn’t do. He does it now. Hands all over Jared, pulling on his clothes, touching his face, tasting his mouth. Feeling the heat of his bare skin, feeling his muscles move under his grasping hands. 

It’s so much better than he even imagined. Jared isn’t just giving him what he wants, he’s also needy. He tugs at Jensen, pushing his hands where he wants them, moaning approval when he gets what he wants. He grinds up against Jensen, panting and breathy all along his neck. 

With shaking hands, Jensen pushes Jared’s tee up over his head and off, Jared pushes Jensen’s lab coat back off his shoulders and onto the floor. “We can’t be doing this,” Jensen says, not because he wants to stop, or thinks they should stop, but because he wants to hear the things Jared will say in response. 

“Watch us,” Jared says. “I was made to do this, and if you can’t resist, it’s not your fault, I’m a professional.” 

“I’m supposed to be the professional here,” Jensen squeaks out as Jared unbuttons his shirt, one excruciating button at time. He hasn’t released Jensen from between his legs and Jensen can feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing up against him through Jared’s blue jeans. Despite his protestations, it’s completely clear who is in charge here, because Jared is not only _literally_ a professional, but also specifically engineered to be an _expert_ at what he does. 

When he gets to the last button on Jensen’s shirt, he doesn’t stop. His clever fingers unbutton Jensen’s pants and pull out his dick in one swift motion, and his fingers, oh, god, his long, cool fingers slide down the length of it. Jensen’s knees wobble along with his breath.

“I’m going to suck it, Jensen,” Jared croons. He slides down off the table, hooking his thumbs into the waist of Jensen’s pants and bringing them all the way down with him. All Jensen can do is stare, disbelieving at this kid on his knees, looking like every single fantasy he’s ever had rolled into one. When the tip of Jared’s tongue touches him, gently licks his stomach, that’s when it hits that it’s not a fantasy. It’s real. And he _can’t_. 

He pushes Jared away. Gently, hand on his jaw. “We really, really can’t,” he says. Using a sexbot without the owner’s permission isn’t like joyriding. It’s a felony. At the very least, Jensen _will_ lose his job. Worst case scenario means significant prison time. He’s risked enough already just touching Jared when he was turned off. This is way, way across the line. 

Jared just waits. On his knees, he looks up at Jensen like he knows how this will end, he just needs to be patient until Jensen gets there. 

“Jared,” Jensen pleads. “Get up. I can’t.”

In response, Jared opens his mouth. Just slightly. Just enough to breath out softly through his candy-sticky lips. Jensen groans and lets Jared guide him into that sweet, soft mouth. 

It is literally the best thing that has ever happened to his dick. Jared’s tongue gently sucks on the underside while he slowly, excruciatingly pulls him in. There doesn’t seem to be an end and Jensen’s world slips alarmingly down the rabbithole. Because he never, never wants this feeling to stop. He will live here now, cock firmly planted down the back of Jared’s sucking throat. He keeps one hand on Jared’s jaw, but has to grasp the lab bench with his other hand to keep his balance. 

He fucks in and out of Jared’s mouth, in ways that his mind won’t let him believe. It’s too good. It’s too good. It’s a damn good thing he just came not twenty minutes ago, because this has to last. He has a vague sense that this is it, he’s never going to have this chance again and all he wants is Jared, Jared, Jared and that wet, sucking heat and beautiful baby-boy lips around his cock. 

Jared does all the dirty, filthy-wrong things that Jensen has always imagined. He crooks one finger up behind Jensen’s balls and lets it slide and probe deeper back with each thrust. He swirls his tongue around the head and then pulls back and rubs his face along the length of Jensen’s cock, leaving long sticky streaks on his cheeks. He sucks Jensen down until his throat is clutching at the head and gags without letting go. 

He edges up time and time again, but Jared always backs off just in time, giving him a sort of _no, no, no, not yet you don’t_ look, then starting up again the moment it’s safe. The programmers who wrote this kid’s code were really a couple of sick fucks, because no one could possibly ever be expected to live with a machine like this and ever leave the house again. 

More than that, no one could ever be expected to live with Jared and think of him as a machine. Which means you aren’t just playing around with a sex toy that _wink, wink_ looks like a seventeen year-old prostitute, you really _are_ fucking the mouth of a seventeen year old prostitute. The dirty-wrong-badness of it drives Jensen right the fuck out of his head. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Jared soothes when Jensen starts to lose control. “You aren’t getting off the hook that easy. Get on down here.” Jared pulls Jensen to the floor, and pushes him, shuffles him backwards into the corner of the lab bench. 

Jensen leans there, splayed legged and out of breath, and watches Jared shimmy out of his jeans. Once, when he was a teenager, he got in a drunk driving accident. He hadn’t been so drunk, so much as a little tipsy plus way tired. He kept catching himself going too fast around the corners, tires sliding into the soft shoulder alarmingly, until he went just a little too fast and his whole world slid into slow motion catastrophe. He had had this curious sense of crossing a time shift. That this would permanently divide his life into a _before_ and an _after._ That things would always be different in that _after_. He had that same feeling now. That otherworldly slide into a place he could never come back from. 

Jared pokes around in the lab drawers, pawing through the contents until he comes up with what he’s looking for. Lubricant. He raises an eyebrow at Jensen, sprawled in the corner. “For work purposes, I am sure.” 

Jensen’s brain is too blitzed to think of a witty response. 

It doesn’t make sense for a gangly, long legged teenager to also be graceful as he straddles your lap, but somehow Jared manages. He snugs his dick right up against Jensen’s, holding them both together as he uses the other hand to generously dose them with lube. Jensen is beyond the point where he cares about the embarrassing noises that are coming out of his mouth, or the greedy way he ruts up against Jared’s hand. Any organized thoughts he has left promptly run screaming out of his head when Jared raises himself up and reaches back to lube himself. 

“You ready?” Jared asks. 

Yes. No. Definitely yes. There is absolutely nothing that could possibly make him ready, but likewise nothing that could hold him back now. He’s coming apart. When Jared lowers himself onto Jensen’s cock, he grins like a cat, so smug in his power over Jensen. So satisfied to see him groaning, head thrown back, losing his ever-loving mind. 

“That’s it,” Jared says, “so deep. Is that everything you were hoping for? Does it feel like you were imagining when you jerked off over me earlier? Or is it better?”

Jensen nods incoherently. It _is_ so much better, because he could have never imagined it would be this good. This tight. This hot. He hadn’t anticipated how Jared would know instinctively just the right rhythm. How to rock him so close to the edge, so close, so close and then still. How he’d lick into Jensen’s mouth, filthy and messy. How Jared’s cock felt when it was warm and diamond-hard; he’d only ever felt it cold and unresponsive before. 

And for one brief moment, he lets himself pretend that Jared is _his._ That he could own this beautiful boy, have this for himself. That does it, just the thought of something more. He grips Jared’s hips and grinds in as Jared bears down, rolling his hips deliciously from side to side. It cranks his brain all up to fuck-hell and back and he explodes deep in Jared, a feeling like he’s falling back through the floor and floating above himself at the same time. Jared is saying something, some filthy words gabbled as his come hits Jensen over his chest, hot and precious. 

And then, it’s dead silent. Jared slides off Jensen and tucks himself under his shoulder, nuzzling his neck. His fingertips swirl idly in the pearly fluid on Jensen’s chest. Jensen can’t think anything just yet, he’s all white noise and hot mess, heartbeat and sweat. 

When Jensen can breathe again, he opens his eyes to find Jared gazing up at him. “You know,” Jared says. “ _He_ doesn’t believe that I get anything out of it. _He_ thinks it’s all just code made to look like I am. _You_ know better, right?” 

“Technically, he’s right,” Jensen says, “but I’m having a very hard time believing it right now. That’s not how it feels.” Jared’s heartbeat is wild up against his side. 

“Sure as fuck not how it feels to me, either.” 

Jared’s voice gets very, very quiet. “He doesn’t believe I feel pain, either. Or boredom. Like in the closet.” 

“But you do, huh?”

Jared smiles. “Like I said, there must be something wrong with me.” 

It’s nice, Jensen thinks, to have a start. “Come on,” he says, shrugging Jared up off his shoulder. “Get up, get dressed. We’ll figure it out.” He is surprised to hear how calm he sounds, how assured. Because he’s not thinking calm thoughts. He’s not thinking rational thoughts, just true thoughts. Thoughts like, _no way in hell is anyone other than me ever going to touch Jared again. No fucking way._ Thoughts that have to do with ownership and possession and locking himself in a room with Jared and not coming out for work or the police and maybe not even for food. 

“So,” he asks Jared when they’re dressed, “what else are you willing to break?” 

++++++++

It means taking a hit at work. It means people whispering and pointing behind his back. Being known as the freak. But fuck it, he doesn’t care. 

The worst part, besides that moment he had to shut down Jared, and then when he had to do that _other_ thing, is the risk. If this doesn’t work, he’ll have to punt. Think of something, _anything._ No _way_ is he letting Jared go to auction. 

Strangely, sitting in front of the president of Telios, he feels calmer than he has in days. It’s do or die time, he’s done everything he can, and it’s out of his hands now. Best not to be twitching and sweating in front of the man who holds the future of this whole insane gamble in his hands. 

Mr. Morgan has clearly read Jensen’s reports already, but he’s shuffling through, skimming over some of the performance tables, cross checking with his own notes. 

“Well,” he says at last. “This all looks very… thorough.” He closes the report and takes off his glasses. “You’re a good mechanic, Jensen. Going places in this company. We need people like you who are… passionate about our product.” 

A flush creeps over Jensen’s face. Jeffery Dean Morgan didn’t create the Teleios sexbot empire by being a fool. He wills his heart to stop telling tales. 

“Requests like this aren’t as uncommon as you’d think. It’s pretty natural for techs to become fond of the units they work on. They’re engineered to be seductive.” Mr. Morgan leans back in his chair, “But you understand we need to be cautious in situations like these.”

“Of course, sir” Jensen nods. Struggles to keep his gaze even, meet the president’s probing gaze. 

Mr. Morgan throws his palms up in front of him. “At the end of the day though, in certain cases, it’s a win-win for everyone. The customer gets an upgrade, and is impressed with our customer service. And we keep our techs happy and loyal to the company, right?” 

“Absolutely sir.” Jensen doesn’t dare say more than that. 

“However, there are certain conditions, protocols, so to speak that we need to follow.” 

“Of course, sir”

Mr. Morgan flicks his eyes to Jensen. “You can drop the ‘sir’ act. Just call me Jeffery. So, first, there will be a non-disclosure agreement and an archive purge. You’ll need to sign a waiver on the unit’s behalf, forfeiting any possessions or subscriptions purchased by the client. The lawyers will be in contact, there’s more formalities and red tape, but you get the picture.”

They’d had a fight about it, the archive purge. Jensen swearing that he would never let that happen to Jared, Jared insisting it wouldn’t matter, he would always choose Jensen, even if he didn’t remember him. Jared got his way in the end. The download, although hugely risky—if Jensen was caught with it, it was all over—was their compromise. He’d had to pull in a favor-bordering-on-blackmail to get it done, and it still didn’t sit well with him. Jared had promised he’d make sure Jensen had no regrets when it was all said and done, and Jensen couldn’t find it in him to argue after that. 

Now Jensen has to look away. His pulse is racing, and he is vaguely aware that he might be getting hard. Just a little. He shifts his tablet in his lap. 

“Now, just between you and me, I’d rather that you kept this transaction discreet. Write the recommendations in your report accordingly. It’s better if this sort of arrangement is the exception, rather than the rule.” 

“Noted,” Jensen says. 

Mr. Morgan stands and offers a handshake. “Enjoy your ‘souvenir’ as token of our appreciation for your loyalty to the company. Don’t make me regret this decision.”

“No, sir. Thank you sir,” Jensen says, unable to help himself with the “sirs.” Mr. Morgan doesn’t correct him this time. 

++++++++

_Work order number 426428_

_Technician: Jensen Ackles_

_Model: Jared Unit, v684, custom design_

_Reason for Complaint: Three dislocated fingers on left hand. Unit was stored in closet in good condition x4 days, defect discovered when removed from closet. Unit states visual record of incident is unhelpful for diagnosis as closet was dark._

_Assessment: See attached full neuropsych evaluation, complete physio-anatomic and haptic scan and test battery. Consult with product manager Chad Lindberg. Detailed report from client re: performance attached. Archive of visual and auditory logs reviewed, impressions attached._

_Diagnosis- psychological defects and performance defects which are incompatible with the Teleios standard of quality and performance._

_Recommendation: recycle unit, offer client upgrade at no cost._

++++++++

The door barely shuts behind the delivery men before Jensen is flipping the hasps on Jared’s case with shaking fingers. There’s a new access code to enter on Jared’s neck panel, one that Jensen has designated himself. There’s the USB with the illegal download.

“Hey, Jared,” Jensen says, throat tight and heart slicing at his ribcage, “open your eyes.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
